Another

Last night's weird dream:

I was a maths teacher, I think, and married to my old boss's wife because he'd died. That was odd in itself. I had this old computer, this Acorn Archimedes that went everywhere with me. I didn't carry it around, but it just appeared wherever I was. It was always there.

I know that I was writing some book about maths, but my awake brain doesn't understand what about. Then my wife changed, and the house looked nicer because my father in law was a furniture maker. 

But the recurring bit, the bizarre bit, was that I was rally anal, really really OCD about eating. Every day we ate at exactly six minutes past five. Every day. And every day we ate what both my wives called a Greek pie, which apparently was at my insistence. But the pie wasn't the usual pastry topped thing. It was a cylinder of pastry with the filling running through it a stick of rock. But not just blobbed in the middle, the filling was shaped like a little picture of a table. We had a slice each and seemed to enjoy it. Imagine the calories in that.